


Somnus

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: Haunted by the past, Megatronus could only recharge when Orion Pax was there. Megatron hasn't recharged in stellar cycles.





	Somnus

For as long as he could think back, the nightmares had been a constant feature of his life cycle.

There was a time, now so long ago, that he had been newly constructed and sent out into the mines when he was able to stand and hold some tools without dropping them, able to follow the directions barked at him. He had been hacking at the walls when he was shoved out of the way and he turned around to see someone’s frame crumple under the weight of a patch of ceiling that caved in.

Over the many millenia that had eclipsed him since being a new construct, he’d seen countless others of his brethren die in various, yet all horrifying ways in the mines. Helms crushed, trapped under a piece of machinery and everyone ordered to continue working and ignore the cries for help, cleaved cleanly in half by tools they worked with. 

He was well over a hundred stellar cycles old when he was finally granted permission to rise above the surface. Cybertron’s sun was hot, Kaon’s air was unforgivingly thick, but it was a far cry and it was safety over the harsh environment of the mines. 

“Megatronus?” came a soft voice to his side, successfully breaking him out of the nightmare he wasn’t aware he was having until the vision of mechs being crushed under mining carts disappeared from his visual field. He onlined his optics and gave a short gasp, vents hitching and then ceasing when his sensors registered the gentle servos stroking up and down his arm. He settled down, telling his spark that all was safe and well and there was nothing to be afraid of, and he turned his helm to look at the smaller mech. 

Orion Pax’s lipplates were shifted into a gentle smile that didn’t betray the worry that he held in his optics. 

How those optics could melt Megatronus. He gently held the smaller servo in his and brought it up to his faceplates, kissing the back of the other mech’s servo. Megatronus curled around the little form of his data clerk, feeling Orion’s calming electromagnetic field overtake his and mingle together so he could calm. For the first time that solar cycle, he felt his spark go to true ease, and he dropped his helm so his chin nestled on the top of Orion’s helm.

“Which one was it?” Orion asked, his voice gentle as he probed for an answer. “Was it the first time you went into the Pits?”

Megatronus shook his helm. “No,” he answered, his voice muffled by Orion’s helm armor.

“The mines?”

The gladiator paused for a moment, and then gave a brief nod of his helm. He was grateful when that affirmation was not followed up with a derisive comment about how he should be long over it, as it had been more than a hundred stellar cycles since he’d had to set pede underground.

“Is there anything I can do?” Orion asked. The little data clerk stroked his faceplates. “I’m sorry that you still struggle with these.”

“It is fine, Orion,” Megatronus sighed, pulling his mate a little closer. “Having you here is more than enough. Thank you.”

Out of the corner of his optics he saw Orion settle deeper into the warmth that his embrace provided, the data clerk’s optics dimming slowly until the optic covers slid closed. 

Whatever deity it was that truly existed - Megatronus had to thank them for putting this Iaconian in his path. This little Iaconian data clerk who shared his ideals, though they originated in such different castes that they may as well have been strangers born on different worlds. He had almost swept the introductory message that the little data clerk ad sent to him aside, assuming it was just another zealous fan who ultimately wanted to be invited to his berth, thinking that he thought along the same lines as the other gladiators that enjoyed conquests in both the Pits and in their berthrooms.

But something had told him to just take a look. Then he opened the message, and found himself glad that he’d listened to that part of his processor urging him on.

He leaned forward and kissed Orion on his helm crest, holding the little face in his servos that were big enough to envelop it.

Orion stirred in his recharge and reopened his optics, looking up at Megatronus through half-lidded and dim optics that made the gladiator’s spark perform various acrobatic feats.

“I am so lucky to have you with me,” Megatronus confessed. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Orion’s small servos wrapped as much as they could around his wrists, and the little data clerk smiled back at him.

“You did nothing but give me a chance,” he admitted softly. “And I am glad that you did.”

The odd pair, a gladiator constructed for the mines and meant to never see the stars, and a data clerk born in a middle caste, kept their gazes locked for a moment longer before Megatronus felt safe enough to give an attempt at recharging. He curled around Orion Pax once more and felt his systems begin the process of shutting down.

The last thing he was aware of before sleep took him over was Orion drawing circular shapes on the back of his servos with his digits.

.-.-.

His berthroom was bathed in a red glow akin to the hue of his optics when he woke. Megatron curled his servos into fists and laid them at his side, staring at the ceiling of the  _ Nemesis  _ and cursing his inability to recharge more than a cycle or two at a time.

It began the night after Orion Pax became Optimus Prime and they split ways. He could no longer sleep without his data clerk by his side, and it most definitely showed. He heard the comments and remarks about the state of his optics and how he was restless, tired but continued to go forth, fervent in his mission. The truth that only Soundwave knew was that he needed Orion Pax with him.

But Orion Pax was dead, replaced by Optimus Prime, a puppet of the High Council.

Over time he’d managed to learn to recharge, but only in small bits and pieces of a cycle, sometimes two if he were lucky. Tonight was not one of his nights.

He got to his pedes and walked out of his berthroom, bypassing the patrols of Vehicons. He reached the outside of the  _ Nemesis _ , watching the ship cut through the thick cloud cover in the Earth’s sky. Reaching out and feeling the droplets of condensation plinking on his servo, he stayed in that position for a few nanokliks before he decided that a flyover was what he needed.

Perhaps tiring himself out would help him go into recharge.

.-.-.

There were some night cycles that the ghosts of the past visited him, often in the form of feeling Megatronus’s spark pulses nearby, their electromagnetic fields mingling. He would stir and open his optics, expecting to see a pair of bright blue optics staring back at him and large servos that could crush his helm gently stroking him, a deep voice that cried out for a reform of Cybertron telling him how he loved him.

Optimus sat up in his berth, blinking the fugue of sleep away before realizing that he’d stretched his arm out over the empty space of berth next to him. He had to ask himself what he’d expected to find when he’d felt around for a form that would not, and would never, be there.

The more obvious answer was that he expected nothing. But a small part of him did hope, as always, that somehow the war was all a strange and prolonged nightmare, and that he might wake up to see the looming and protective form of Megatronus in a deep recharge next to him.

Instead, all he was haunted by were the glowing red optics of Megatron.

Shaking the leftover fatigue from his frame, Optimus got off of his berth and walked out into the hallway, stopping by each door that led to the berthrooms of each member of Team Prime. After listening in and ensuring they were all in recharge, or at least in their berthrooms (there was a small chance the noise coming from Arcee’s room may have been sleep talking or her watching a holovid) he walked into the common area and immediately over to the controls for the ground bridge.

He thought about taking the non-bridge route and simply going around for a drive in the desert, but he’d done that multiple times in the past few solar cycles and the terrain no longer was interesting for him. There was a map of Earth blinking at him on the screens, tempting him with an untold number of alternate routes.

He sent a ping to Ratchet and then a message, letting the medic know that he was using the bridge to go somewhere. Where exactly, he didn’t know just yet. He would just input a set of coordinates in a mostly desolate location. He would send a request to be let back into the base when he was done.

Ratchet replied with a grumpy noise of acknowledgement, and a comment about how he needed better timing. But of course, that was simply his old friend and his mannerisms.

Optimus took a long look at the map of the world and selected a location - a desolate range of mountains in Maine, miles from any small dwellings and villages. Upon arrival he would check to make sure the place was devoid of human presence, lest he be spotted and his picture posted on one of those websites that Rafael was constantly wiping clean. He wouldn’t hear the end of Agent Fowler’s rants for at least three solar cycles.

Prompting the ground bridge to online, he walked through it and came into rocky terrain, rolling mountains and forests as far as his optics could see.

The nighttime was cool and the stars shone brightly in the sky that was noticeably darker from the few hours behind sky of Nevada. The curious and always knowledge-seeking aspect of his being performed a scan of the celestial sphere above, and managed to pinpoint the star that Cybertron orbited. It was in a different region of the night sky than it was when he was atop the base.

The nearest human was about six miles out, and their location was stationary. By that fact, he could presume that they were doing the human activity called “camping.” There were some animals a little closer, but they lacked cameras and access to the world wide web, so he was safe.

He felt much more at peace here than he had in quite a long time. The mountains and the variation in the landscape, the soothing green colors and the river running nearby made him sometimes wonder why there was no spare base in this area for his team to relocate to. Earth was a beautiful planet, but some areas inspired the spark moreso than others.

As a visitor on this planet, a thorn in the side of the native governments just by his mere existence, he had no room to ask for accomodations.

The wind whirled and whistled around him, blowing through the crevices in his armor, singing the song of the mountains that he’d longed to hear since visiting the desolate mountain ranges of Cybertron. Something perched momentarily on his audio receptors before flitting away, the sweeping of wings in the air noting a bird of some sort.

Optimus crouched to the ground and then, after a moment of surveying his surroundings, sat down with his legs outstretched along the slope of the ground as it wandered down. 

From overhelm in the sky came a shadow that he noticed on the ground out of the corner of his optics for a brief moment, before the shadow moved further and was warped by the trees. In that brief moment, his spark stalled and he curled one of the servos on his knee joints into a fist. 

The shadow circled back, much closer this time to the ground this time and slowing down in speed. It stopped a good half mile from where he sat, hovering in the sky for a few moments that stretched out into a few eons. Then the shadow shifted once more, his audio receptors catching the unmistakable sounds of a transformation.

A figure clad in all silver and claws dropped directly in his line of sight. Optimus didn’t move his body but only his helm, lifting his gaze so he stared at Megatron directly in his bright red optics.

The wind seemed to stop even for them, just for the quickest moment.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you without at least one of your pets at your side.”

Optimus bristled at the tone and the demeaning term. He didn’t online his cannons, but he unfurled the one servo from a fist, and slowly got to his pedes, preparing to bring his weapons out if he needed to. “I object to you referring to them as such. They are their own beings, and I have told them they are free to come and go as they wish.”

From across the way he could hear how Megatron scoffed. “Right. And what do they tell you?”

“That is none of your business, Megatron.” He nodded at the old warlord, his old friend. “Just as your relations with your own subordinates are not my business to mind.”

Megatron said nothing but only glowered, and that was how Optimus knew that the other mech had no comeback. Reveling in the slightest bit over his small little victory, Optimus craned his helm at his longtime adversary, noting curiosity.

“What brings you here, Megatron? Did you follow?”

“No,” Megatron replied. “I have flown for over a cycle, and it wasn’t until I was directly above you that I saw you were here.”

“So you came for a fight, then?”

Megatron’s faceplates crinkled into an expression Optimus couldn’t immediately discern, but then the warlord shook his helm and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I haven’t recharged well enough. Not since we split.”

_ In more ways than just one,  _ Optimus thought to himself. The Prime tried not to let the flash of smugness that he felt show on his faceplates. “I am sorry about that, Megatron. But what do you expect me to do about it?”

There was something on Megatron’s visage that showed that he was thinking. From prior experience Optimus knew it could be something fantastic, such as his ideals about the revolution, or something horrific, just like the undead brought back with dark energon.

“There is a cavern nearby,” Megatron said in a low voice, gesturing somewhere off to the left of Optimus. “I did not give you my word then, when Dreadwing disobeyed my orders, but I will give you my word now, Optimus. Orion Pax’s spark was once the only thing that gave me reprieve and allowed me to recharge. Let me rest against you and I won’t do anything to harm you for the rest of this night cycle.”

“Your word means very little to me, Megatron,” Optimus said sternly. “You will need to show me that you truly do not intend to harm me for this night cycle.”

“And how can I trust that you will not harm me instead?”

“If I have your word, I will give you mine. I do not attack unless prompted first.”

There was a beat of silence, and Megatron pouted and glared directly at him and then shifted the glare to the cannon affixed to his arm.

“If I were to leave this on the other end of the cavern and allow you to be the barrier between me and it, would that suffice?”

Optimus had to admit very truthfully that Megatron looked pathetic. The part of Orion Pax that still remained deep within his consciousness overruled the stern and firm visage he was now so adept at putting forth, and he found his spark feeling some sort of pity for the old warlord. After some more thought, Optimus nodded and shifted aside.

Megatron looked at him, a little curious.

“I will not have you at my back. You are either at my side, or in front of me.” Optimus lifted his helm a little bit into the air, narrowing his optics a micrometer. “Those are your choices.”

Another long pause occurred between them, and the Prime thought that the warlord would reconsider, but much to his surprise Megatron made his way over and up, climbing up the wall of rocks that separated them. Optimus leaned down and helped the warlord the last of the way up, and found himself staring up into Megatron’s intensely crimson optics.

It took him a beat to remember what he was going to do, and then he wound up tugging Megatron into the cavern so he could keep his optics on the mech, watching as Megatron took off the cannon with his spare servo and tossed it somewhere near the entrance.

The cavern was deep and much cooler than the outside. Their biolights lit up the rocks as Optimus sat down and coaxed Megatron into his arms, thinking in the back of his helm about how odd the entire situation was, and how he had to admit to himself that the best nights of recharge he used to get were when he was curled up to Megatronus.

By his frame’s language, Optimus could tell that the warlord definitely thought this was just as odd as he did, but it looked like even just a faint bit of decent recharge was a far bigger draw than he could muster with his built-in blades.

The warlord started off by laying a helm against one of his shoulder pauldrons. His optics still were wide open, as evidenced by the fact that the blue light of Optimus’s optics was accompanied by red light.

Optimus cleared his vocalizer. “I will not harm you.”

Megatron made a noise with his own vocalizer and shifted how he lay, placing his helm over where Optimus’s spark was, but said nothing more, and as the kliks passed them by, Optimus could see the red glow of Megatron’s optics dimming until eventually it was just the blue glow of his optics and his biolights lighting up the cave.

Megatron’s helm on his chassis was simultaneously a foreign and a familiar sensation. It was the same weight as Megatronus’s helm, naturally, but so much time had passed that Optimus had to wonder how his much smaller self had been perfectly fine with this hefty and  _ pointy _ gladiator helm resting over his chassis. He looked as best as he could at the semi-peaceful visage of Megatron’s faceplates, and felt his spark melt just as Orion Pax did whenever he was the one to soothe Megatronus into a deep slumber.

Against his best judgement, and before he could stop himself, Optimus found himself reaching out with his long and thin digits and running the flat tip of one digit along the scars on Megatron’s faceplate.

Some of them he knew well, as he had been the one to inflict them on the warlord. He ran the tip of a digit over one of the scars near the line of his mouth, his optics dimming slightly as he remembered the Battle of Darkmount Pass that he’d swiped across Megatron’s face with the tip of his blade. He could still see the trail that the energon he’d drew had left behind, deep blue streak dribbling down Megatron’s chin as the warlord snarled in both pain and anger and lunged for him.

Moving his digits over to a scar that was mixed with the line of one of his optic ridges, Optimus remembered Technahar and how he’d aimed for gouging one of the other mech’s optics, only to catch an optic ridge. Megatron had thrown him into a wall for the offense and turned tail, unable to see with fresh energon spilling out of the wound and close to leaking into his optic.

There were other scars in sets of two and threes that he didn’t recognize. He inspected them, gently touching them, using the sensors on his digits to take measurements of their width. His optics flickered over to one of Megatron’s servos that was resting on his own chassis and then he realized what the result of lack of recharge (or dark energon infusion, possibly) would do to a warlord.

Optimus thought back to eons ago, when the only scars he saw on Megatron’s frame were those of the fights, the welts and scratches on his frame but his faceplates relatively smooth save for light scuffs. Megatron’s optics were blue, and his name was a syllable longer until a crowd shortened it for chanting’s sake. They had both been so young.

He lost track of time as he counted all of the scars he could see on this side of Megatron’s helm and was startled slightly when he warlord’s optics opened, bright red glow focusing on him.

All the Prime could do was stare down at the mech and slowly move his servo away, but instead of pulling it away, he put it to Megatron’s side and began stroking his digits up and down his arm. He could see how Megatron bristled at the motion.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, unsure in the moment of why he was even apologizing.

Megatron said nothing, choosing instead to lean up and press his scarred lipplates against Optimus’s. Optimus stalled for a moment and then pressed back with increasing fervor.

A sharp digit trailed down from the side of his chassis to the front of his pelvic region, trying to coax Optimus to open his panel, and the Prime didn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at how quickly he opened up for his old lover. Feeling those pointed digits probing the lips of his valve made him remember all those other nights where he rode Megatronus’s spike with abandon, recalled Megatronus smirking at him and telling him that only he was allowed to try and conquer him. 

Optimus parted his legs and let the warlord dip between them, moaning quietly as Megatron’s digits worked at his anterior node and alternated between rubbing the mesh of his valve lips and pressing them inside, against his long-dormant sensor clusters. The burn that had suddenly sparked when their lipplates met turn into a flame that needed to be put out. He trailed his digits down Megatron’s middle and then pelvic area, wordlessly begging for something to be released. Spike, valve, one or the other would work.

Megatron slid back his spike cover and Optimus wrapped his digits around it, stroking it to full firmness before he pressed against Megatron, guiding him with his frame to lie down on his back while he climbed over him and sank down on that spike. 

The look that Megatron gave him was the same one that Megatronus would give Orion Pax, bright optics looking up at him from half-lidded covers, a lazy smile, electromagnetic fields completely merged so they fed off each other’s passion. Optimus rolled his hips and leaned forward, stroking his digits up and down Megatron’s side as he again pressed their lipplates together.

Eons apart had not changed how well they could read each other, how they could speak to one another without words. Each crane of a helm, each movement of optics and optic ridges, the slight changes to their faceplates.

They used to merge their sparks when they were more spry and not tainted by war, only just enough to intensify their joinings, but there would be none of that. Megatron wanted it, but Optimus shook his helm and rippled his calipers along the length of the Decepticon’s spike, watching how Megatron’s optics dimmed and he craned his helm back.

Their overloads hit them quite suddenly, a telltale sign of how long it had been for them both. Optimus gasped, optics blaring to near-white, and he slowed the roll of his hips to a stuttering, clinging to Megatron’s spike for all the fluid it could give him. He felt the pull of recharge overcome him, but he refused to give in. Not now.

When he came down from his high, he looked down, and sighed in quiet frustration when he saw the still form of Megatron. The old warlord, knocked deep into recharge by overload, flat on his back struts, his optics closed. 

Optimus looked at him, stroking his digits along the scars.

_ Even now, I am sorry that you still struggle. _

.-.-.

Following the most fitful recharge he’d had since before the war, Megatron woke to the sun rising and streaming through the opening of the cavern, the light beaming off of his cannon that was still where he’d put it the night cycle prior.

And he was alone. All traces of Optimus were gone from the cavern, and Megatron knew he’d slept so deeply that he hadn’t woken up to see Optimus leave him.

He wasn’t entirely sure why his spark sunk at the realization. Or, part of his processor told him, he knew very well and was loathe to admit the reason. The war would end and he would likely be long gone before he would admit that reason.

He got to his pedes and walked over to the cannon, staring down at it for a moment before he reached for it and fixed it back to his arm. Walking out into the sunlight, he saw a group of Earth animals dart far away from him and a group of birds take flight. He watched them fly towards the sun, and then followed suit.

For a brief moment he swore he heard the unmistakable sound of a ground bridge activating, but when he activated an area scan, there was nothing below.

_ Having you there was more than enough. _


End file.
